


and the moon's never seen me before

by lovelylogans



Series: the sideshire files [12]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Dancing, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Multi, Slice of Life, Slow Dancing, drinking mention, it's just cute stuff y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:48:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23580319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelylogans/pseuds/lovelylogans
Summary: logan takes a break in studying, and virgil and patton take a break from doing chores.or: a snapshot of a saturday morning.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders
Series: the sideshire files [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1464067
Comments: 20
Kudos: 105





	and the moon's never seen me before

**Author's Note:**

> oowadas prompted: 37. w moxiety?? i'm w e a k
> 
> lovelylogans: i am literally so sorry this took so long! this prompt was “ **dance with me!** ” this takes place in the [wyliwf verse](http://lovelylogans.tumblr.com/tagged/wyliwf), about two months after the main storyline. the songs patton’s listening to/singing to are “[bubbly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AWGqoCNbsvM)” by colbie caillat and [“reflecting light”](https://youtu.be/O-2XJj55-LI?t=1m17s) by sam philips, a gilmore girls easter egg and also where the title comes from. 

logan has nearly one hundred pages to read for his english course, a paper to write for history, and two tests to study for in latin and science. his plan for this saturday has been to sequester himself into his room to handle them—they haven’t _quite_ reached spring midterms, but they’ve certainly reached the point that his coursework is starting to pile up on him again to the point of being nearly unbearable.

his dad had agreed with this plan, and virgil had, too, sent him upstairs with some healthy study-snacks and an enormous bottle of water, in hopes that logan will “take care of himself.”

he has. he’s also found himself unexpectedly hungry, _again_ —he wonders ruefully when this growth spurt will finally stop _,_ and he’ll stop feeling like he’s eating his dad out of house and home, to quote virgil—but he plods down the stairs, empty plate in hand, ready to sneak into the kitchen to pile up his plate with some filling options. hopefully, he’ll remain unseen so he can flee back to his room before he can be distracted _too_ much. 

he hears music playing, the susurrus of a broom brushing along the floor, soft humming following, and then his dad starts to sing.

his dad has a pleasant voice—logan’s used to hearing it in terms of birthday songs, singalongs, and, in a handful of distant memories, being sung to sleep—and it harmonizes sweetly with the acoustic guitar, the alto voice of the artist. he remembers this song. it had been on the radio frequently when he was younger.

“ **dance with me!”** patton sing-demands, at a break in the music, and logan chances a peek into the kitchen, trying his hardest not to be seen.

it’s still relatively early, so the sunlight’s slanting through the window in the kitchen, sunbeams that caught the dust motes dancing in the air. his dad was still half in pajamas—a sweater, pajama pants, one blue fuzzy sock and one black fuzzy sock—and virgil was dressed for the day, in jeans and his usual hoodie, but his feet were bare. his dad is twisting around the room, holding the broom as if it was a dance partner.

virgil has his back to his dad, but logan can still see the slight smile on his face, even as he scrubs at the dishes in the sink.

“i have kept you focused on chores,” virgil says, sounding only slightly resigned, “for _five minutes._ we can dance once the floor’s swept.”

“but this is a great song!” patton says, and picks up where the artist has continued without him, “ _—you make me smile, please, stay for a while now, just take your time, wherever you go—”_

he twists on socked feet, mismatched, and tilts the broom so it stands on its own in the corner, slowly moving to crowd virgil at the sink, singing and harmonizing with the music all the while. virgil’s still fighting a smile, and focuses back on the dishes that he’s been scrubbing the whole time logan has been standing awkwardly in the living room, despite the fact that it’s visibly clean.

logan is beginning to regret that he hadn’t just continued without coming to a stop, when he’d heard the music. he knows his dad and virgil are together. he is happy about the development. he has been campaigning for it for years. it is nice to know that his father is being shown love, and being cared for, in the way that he deserves. it is also nice to know that virgil is just about the happiest he’s ever seen him.

it is also, he can acknowledge, a bit strange to walk downstairs on a saturday morning to see his dad cuddling up against virgil’s back, resting his chin on virgil’s shoulder, and cooing at him about virgil in the context of the lyrics _it starts in my soul, and i lose all control._ partially because it is virgil, but mostly because _that is his dad._

(he might even admit, a while down the line, that the _entirety_ of these feelings stem from _that is my dad,_ considering he has three.)

but, he reflects as virgil rolls his eyes, smiling fondly, but at least he places the dish aside and moves to wipe his hands on a dish towel to gently hold patton’s wrists, keeping him in place, they are, very clearly, happy. yes, his father had sometimes sung and danced when he did chores on saturday mornings. but he had never had someone to sing and dance _with._ virgil has never had anyone to sing to him and dance with him. 

his dad sways on his feet, keeping virgil in their strange half-hug, and ends the saccharine song with an equally saccharine kiss on the cheek.

“dance with me?” his dad requests again, softer.

virgil seems to war with it, for a moment, before he sighs in defeat. “ _one_ song.”

“that’s all i ask,” his dad says, and leans up to kiss virgil on the cheek. “here, i’ll pick, just—wipe off your hands, you’re leaving soap suds on my wrists.”

“oh,” virgil says, and hastily, more thoroughly, wipes off his hands. “sorry.”

his dad waves him off, his tongue poking between his lips before he lets out an “a-ha!” and hits play on a song.

this is a song that logan doesn’t know. it starts with similar instrumentals—acoustics—but patton rocks up and down on his toes.

“you’re looking at me like you’re expecting something,” virgil says.

“what, you don’t remember?” his dad asks, hands behind his back, seeming strangely shy.

and then the singer begins to croon, her voice soft and clear, “ _now that i’ve worn out, i’ve worn out the world, i’m on my knees in fascination…”_

 _“oh,”_ virgil says. then, “frankly, i’m shocked you can remember this. you were _destroyed.”_

“we don’t talk about my twenty-first birthday,” patton says primly. “well. other than this. you remember it now, though?”

“yeah, ‘course,” virgil says, sounding strangely fond. “i was practically holding you up, you were so drunk, but you kept telling me _one more song, one more song…”_

“and this is the song that came on,” his dad says. “this is the first slow-dance we ever danced to.”

as they’ve been talking, they’ve slowly moved toward each other, almost like they’re being pulled by some kind of gravitational force. as the singer begins to crescendo, reaching the first verse, and they’ve settled into a dancing position. his father’s arms wrapped around virgil’s neck. virgil’s hands at his father’s waist. they’re swaying together, more than anything. logan knows his father can dance, in a formal sense. this is hardly formal dancing. virgil’s feet are bare, his father’s feet socked. virgil has a dish towel thrown over his shoulder. they aren’t really even performing dance steps.

“is that so?” virgil says softly.

and yet there is something just as graceful as a viennese waltz in the way that they turn tiny circles in the kitchen. there is something just as smooth in their movements. there is something even more clearly emotional than even the most chemistry-filled dance duo could ever accomplish their eyes are fixed on each other’s—virgil’s, softened and fond, his father’s, even more expressive than usual, a smile on his face that’s gone sweet and sappy around the edges. 

it is so blatantly, clearly obvious that they love each other. in something as small as a dance on a sunny saturday morning, just to get a break from chores. in something as obvious as eye contact.

and this, logan thinks, this exact facial expression is why he can never get _too_ righteous in his indignation about any potential displays of affection. because this is what he’s been rooting for for years. 

he’s been rooting for them to be blatantly, clearly, obviously in love with each other. and now they are.

he cannot possibly be angry about that when it’s so sweet that it makes him want to call roman, a little, and it makes him imagine a tiny, dingy little apartment that’s all theirs when they’re trying to make it in the world, and roman doing the exact same thing, gently prising him away from his desk just to get logan to dance with him, to do something sweet and silly and small and romantic…

he sets the plate on the coffee table as quietly as he can. they’ll see it later, and hopefully get the hint. the snacks can wait. he figures they’re probably owed some privacy, anyway.

logan goes up the stairs, the music chasing him as he goes— _“i’m on my knees in fascination, looking through the night, and the moon’s never seen me before…”_

there’s a swell of violin and cello. a shared giggle. the sound of a gentle, honeyed kiss.

_“…but i’m reflecting light.”_

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! tumblr is [lovelylogans](http://lovelylogans.tumblr.com/).


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